“The Creator knows our plight,” Rector Yung said again, still calm and gentle.
Mrs. Yung exhaled loudly, partly in aggravation, partly in apology. “I know,” she said quieter. “I know. I’m sorry.”
In the dark, Rector Yung seemed to smile at Dormin. “All will be well,” he said with such surety as if to guarantee it. “We’ve faced trickier situations—”
A loud scoffing sound from his wife begged to differ with that assessment.
“Dearest?” Rector Yung said in a remarkable blend of innocent questioning and firm admonishment.
Mrs. Yung sighed again. “Sorry, sorry. I can’t help but get anxious at this point.”
“And yet every time all goes well, doesn’t it?” her husband said with such sweetness that Dormin wondered if the man were half sugar.
“Yes, you’re always right,” Mrs. Yung growled quietly. “And so is the Creator.”
Rector Yung chuckled quietly and took a chair next to his wife.
But Dormin clenched his hands into nervous fists. “So . . . what happened at the fort? Why is everyone more anxious than usual?”
The Yungs looked steadily at each other before Rector Yung cleared his throat.
“Dormin, sit down, son,” the rector said somberly. “There’s something you need to hear.”
Chapter 21 ~ “I never once remember laughing in Idumea.”
Mahrree looked at the brand new collection of blank paper, tightly bound and protected with a leather cover. Her own book. At least, it would be soon.
Joriana, who had left yesterday for Idumea with her husband and two fewer guards, had bought the beautiful book for her when she endured an arduous but highly distracting outing at the market with Hycymum, two toddlers, and a couple of long-suffering soldiers. When she handed the undoubtedly expensive gift to Mahrree, her eyes were damp.
“Whenever I was deeply troubled, Uncle Hogal told me to write about it. He said we don’t know what we’re thinking until we see it in our own writing, then we’re able to grapple with it. He gave me my first blank book right after my parents died and I realized I was expecting Perrin. I was actually surprised to see that Edge even carries something so fine,” she said as she ran her hand gingerly over the swirling patterns imprinted on the leather, the grooves darkened with inks.
“Oh, Mother Shin—I can’t accept this!” Mahrree had breathed, not daring to take the book. Nothing else in her house could be declared as fine, and less than one minute with either of her children would render it dismal. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
“It will fit quite well in your extensive collection,” Joriana said with finality, nodding to their full bookshelves.
“But shouldn’t you keep it? I imagine you have plenty to write about.”
Joriana smiled sadly and held up two more, just like it. “You’re right—I do have a lot to write about. Mine will be dreary enough, so Mahrree, create something memorable!”
Last night she only fondled the cover, not daring to muss any pages.
“Just use it,” Perrin told her. “Really, my parents can afford it. They can afford a dozen of those.”
Mahrree squinted. “Just how much silver is paid to the High General anyway?”
He squinted back. “He’s paid in gold. And realize, that’s not a job I ever want—especially now—so you can stop your planning—”
“I don’t want you to have that job either! I’m only . . . curious.”
He glared at her, not entirely convinced that curiosity was all there was to it. “Enough to keep their house stocked and their servants well paid.”
“They have servants?!” Mahrree exclaimed. “How big is their house?”
He shrugged dismissively. “Big enough to be garish. No one in their right mind would want it, including you.”
So early this morning Mahrree stoked the fire in the gathering room, dragged one of the stuffed chairs over to it, and settled down with her book next to a small table with a mug of water, ink, and quill to write something memorable.
After five minutes of staring, she realized it wasn’t that easy. Too many things were on her mind, all fighting to be recorded, then each suddenly deciding it didn’t want to be the first to blot the beautiful buff pages.
She was wasting time, and she hated that. Soon her children and husband would be waking, she’d have breakfast to make, then the morning chores to do, then midday meal to ready, then put down her children for naps, and then prepare for her After School Care boys.
This afternoon they were heading to her old school’s orchard. Recently she noticed no one had picked the apples. Many were still hanging heavy on the low branches, but more had dropped to the ground, becoming food for whatever creatures stole them in the night.